Culann's Hound
by BlatantFlagrancy
Summary: An adventurer sits alone in a run-down bar. But when a fight breaks out, he just can't restrain himself. Let me know if I should adapt this into a fully-fledged story or not!


Just a short story I wrote up. I will be continuing Determination soon!

The tavern was as loud and boisterous as ever. A thick smog permeated the air and made it difficult to see more than ten feet in any direction - and that was how the clientelé liked it. The Balrog's Shackle was truly a den of iniquity, where the deals done were as shady as the building itself and the customers were as likely to fight eachother as fight a monster in the dungeon.

But that's why Sét enjoyed it so much.

The food was bad, but the booze was strong enough to knock a minotaur on it's flanks, and despite the large number of drinkers, it was never in short supply.

He'd spent so many evenings here that he'd grown accustomed to the dim lighting and thick smog and for the last half an hour had been observing a group of seven adventurers. They had sat down at the table in the corner and ordered a few drinks. They looked out of place - to a man, they were all under the age of twenty and not one was over level three. Not only had Sét not seen them in the tavern before, he didn't recognise them from elsewhere either; they were not from a famous or powerful familia and it showed in how uncomfortable they looked. Clearly they had made the wrong choice coming here.

"What are ya' looking at?" a voice called to the group from the bar. A rough looking monster of a man was approaching their table. He had sharp, prounounced features and an angry look on his face, and was flanked by two others of similar countenance.

"I-I'm sorry!" replied one of the adventurers from the larger group. He had been looking around nervously the whole time Sét had been watching and had made a little too much eye-contact with the thugs in question. People didn't take well to being openly stared at in a place like this - some took it as a challenge and others took it as prying. Neither were tolerated in lowlife etiquette, and these young adventurers were obviously not savvy.

"Ya' think you can waltz in here and act like ya' own the place, huh?" the thug prodded the young man's chest. His companions had their hands in vicious looking weapons; a morningstar and an axe with a wicked curve respectively. The sword strapped to the first thug's back looked cumbersome but honed to a frighteningly sharp edge.

The seven adventurers were unsure of what to do. At once they began to rise from their seats and walk toward the exit, leaving their drinks half-full. As they reached the large oak door it slammed shut and another man stood in front of it, muscle-bound arms folded across his chest and a crooked grin on his face.

"Going somewhere?" he smirked.

"And then ya' think ya' can just walk out of here after insultin' us?" the ringleader asked, cracking his knuckles.

Sét had seen enough, and rose to his feet. He cracked his neck, the fur collar of his armour ruffling and stretched each arm across his chest, the leather and metal of his armor squealing quietly with the stress.

He wished he could say that he wanted to protect the weak adventurers.

He wished he could say that he hated bullies.

He wished he could say that he hated injustice.

Maybe he could say that this group reminded him of his own familia.

But truthfully, he just really liked the thrill of confrontation.

As the thug ringleader swung a punch at the closest adventurer, the young man reflexively put his hands in front of his face and shielded his head.

But the punch never landed.

When he opened his eyes, a man in dark-gray armour was between him and his aggressor, clutching the thug's fist in one hand. From behind the man's wolf-head pauldron, he could make out the edges of a maniacal grin, and the sound of cracking bone from the vice-grip he had on the ringleader's fist.

"These gentlemen aren't interested in a fight," Sét said from behind that frighteningly wide, and inappropriate grin, "but I am".

"BASTARD!" the thug yelled, clutching his crushed hand. With his remaining hand he grabbed the hilt of his greatsword and brought it down over his head in one fluid motion. He was stupid but he wasn't a weakling.

A shame, Sét thought to himself, that he hadn't crushed the man's dominant hand. It would have been funnier that way when he tried to draw the greatsword.

With a simple turn of his head and a drop of the shoulder, the blade passed mere celch from his face.

The thug stood in front of the door had pushed past the younger group to get involved in the fight, and the younger adventurers had taken the opportunity to flee the tavern. He grappled Sét from behind as the other two thugs rushed at him with weapons drawn.

They were in the city, but no one would bat an eyelid at an adventurer being killed in a place like this. It had happened before.

The morningstar came down first, and Sét only just managed to free one arm from the grapplehold to block it with his thick metal vambrace. The blow rattled his bones and one spike penetrated the metal, sending a spattering of blood on to the tavern floor. The axe was next and Sét used his injured arm to redirect it at the ringleader who was about to swing at him with his greatsword again. The man blocked it, but the blow sent him recoiling backwards.

Ths thug who had Sét in a grapple loosened his hold and drew a dagger, thrusting in into the back of Sét's thigh. His shout of pain was quickly followed by a wave of red heat and a terrifying laugh; Torque, one of Sét's two abilities, and the precursor to his signature skill.

His muscles were twitching and his bones were ablaze with energy. In an instant, Sét had reversed the loosened grip he was under and buried the thug's face into the nearest table with a sickening crunch. He didn't move again. The axe-thug threw his weapon either out of fear or hoping to catch him unawares, but the younger man plucked it from midair and swung it so hard at the floor that it disappeared beneath the tavern floorboards. With his other hand he grasped the man's throat, activating his touch-range magic and causing him to screech in pain before fainting.

When the mace-thug swung at him again, he ducked beneath the blow, gripped the thug's wrist and bicep in each arm and brought his knee up to his elbow, snapping the arm in one clean movement. The shouts of pain were loud, but the cheers of the other tavern-goers were louder - they were lapping this up, but Sét was too busy revelling in the carnage to care.

The only man left to fight him was the ringleader. He hefted the greatsword on to his right shoulder and with incredible speed brought it down directly where Sét was standing. But he was gone.

The younger man reappeared beside him, brandishing a familiar looking dagger, soaked to the hilt in blood, directly at his throat. His normally brown eyes were glowing a dark crimson and narrowed to slits.

"Had enough?" he asked, the grin on his face disturbing the thug greatly.

The rougher man recognised the look in his eyes from tales he'd heard. He knew now the mistake they'd made. He was staring into the face of Sétanta, 'Culann's Hound' - last surviving member of Áine familia.

And he hadn't even drawn his blade.

Sétanta Chulainn

Lv. 5

Strength SS

Endurance SS

Dexterity SS

Agility SS

Swordsman A

Abnormal Resistance A

Magic SS

Magic

• Burning Grasp - touch-range magic

Skill

Torque

• Burst of energy - combat prowess increases and pain is dulled.

• With every activation, effects increase.

• After several activations, Riastrad available.

Riastrad

• Warp frenzy - unstoppable rage.

• Pain is sustained but no longer felt.

• Combat prowess and abilities temporarily increase to incredible levels.

• Recklessness increases greatly.

• Aura of unbearable heat affects allies.

• All are considered enemies.


End file.
